Sweet Savour
by Ariyah
Summary: It's been a year since Aslan restored her. She had faced much, but He's worth it all and so much more. And this dryad is far more grateful than the contents of her small vial could ever express. OC one-shot. By Ariel of Narnia.


**Disclaimer: **I own only my first (published) OC, Myrrah (which is, by the way, pronounced "mere-rah"); nothin' else is mine.

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_"Now thanks be unto God, which always causeth us to triumph in Christ, and maketh manifest the savour of His knowledge by us in every place. For we are unto God a sweet savour of Christ..."_ _II Corinthians 2:14-15a_

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She stood off to the side by herself in the semi-dark, with wounds that had not healed but with a grateful heart.

The snow glistened in the moonlight, shadows leapt away from the fire, dancers glided smoothly past, the merry crowd clapped to the music, and a song she longed to sing swelled. But Myrrah wasn't watching any of that. From her position far to the side, by herself, she saw the tip of His tail swaying to the music, the shadows that flickered across His face, the fire that danced in His eyes.

Myrrah clutched her vial. So little, so poor, so unworthy of His magnificence. Not even the immense number of blossoms she had borne amounted to anywhere near enough. In fact, each of those luscious blossoms – every last one of them – that she crushed and pressed had yielded so very little.

A puff of chilly wind cut into her like the icy wand from so long ago and she shivered to ward off the feel of the stony essence that had taken over her. But just as quickly as the memory had come, it melted in a breath of warmth. Not from the crackling fire, but from Him. Every bit as fresh as it had been just a year ago.

He had done so much for her that the vial was really only a small token of her thanks. As painful as it was to bottle her tree's beauty – the very thing that named it the tree of spring –, it was worth every blossom.

She took a step forward. The Lion was blurred by a sudden welling of tears. The precious vial dug into her scarred hand. This was the only way she could thank Him. She blinked her tears back and squared her shoulders, approaching Him. Small, timid, lowly.

He turned His great green eyes from the fire to her. She dropped her eyes, almost freezing in her tracks. Still she drew closer, studying her own toes until she saw His. So golden, so warm, so alive against the cold white.

Into that cold white she knelt and kissed the paws of the King over all high kings. Her vision blurred again and her hands trembled as she uncorked her vial. Out came a watery oil of palest-of-pale lavender and with it, the sweet scent of lilac. With every precious drop, every tear that fell, a silent prayer she longed to speak. _Thank You. Thank You._ Tears and oil mingled on His golden paws. The final drop of fragrance reluctantly released itself from the vial. _I wish it could have been more._ With her ashen-brown locks she brushed it into His fur. _Thank You for another chance to love You more._

At His unspoken command, her mild green eyes looked into His deep peridot ones. Then in her mind, His voice. _Freely was life returned to you and lavishly are your thanks bestowed. Precious is your gift, daughter, and accepted is your love. Peace upon you, faithful Myrrah._

With His perfumed paw, He wiped the tears from her face. She held His great paw and kissed it. _Thank You._ She rose and joined the dance around the fire, scarred hands joining the beat and heart soaring with the song that she could not sing. It was worth it. All of it was. Her stand against the Enemy, the terrors she had faced, the death she had tasted, the perfume of her blossoms. Through it all, she had faced no real loss: the King over all high kings was her Good Lord.

And He was worth it all.

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**Author's note:** Myrrah is the most patient fanfic character I've ever met. She's been so kindly waiting while real life and other fics (and/or characters in general) demanded attention. I just hope I did her brief tale some justice.

Inspired by Luke 7:37-38 and John 12:3.

_Like oil upon Your feet,  
Like wine for You to drink,  
Like water from my heart,  
I pour my love on You.  
If praise is like perfume,  
I'll lavish mine on You  
Till every drop is gone:  
I pour my love on You.  
_~ Phillips, Craig, and Dean's "Pour My Love on You"

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_Runner-up for "The Stone Table Award (for best supposal)" on the Narnia Still Lives forum's 2012 Narnia Fanfiction Awards._

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Please review.


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